


cherry blossom ending

by mcgreys



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Confessions, Emotional Constipation, Getting Together, M/M, Neighbours, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgreys/pseuds/mcgreys
Summary: The realization that Miya Atsumu was very much infatuated with Sakusa Kiyoomi hit him like stepping in dog shit on a nice sunny day out.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 382





	cherry blossom ending

The realization that Miya Atsumu was very much infatuated with Sakusa Kiyoomi hit him like stepping in dog shit on a nice sunny day out. 

The realization was shockingly embarrassing for Atsumu, because it only served to prove Osamu’s point that Atsumu was as emotionally attuned as a stone statue. It would have been less mortifying had Atsumu liked Sakusa before knowing him, when all they exchanged were spikes and petty dumps across the net, as fated high school champion rivals. Then, he could have blamed his crush on the allure of a stranger. Now, Atsumu wakes up everyday with the crushing humiliation that he’s infatuated with Sakusa, despite knowing all his stupid quirks and annoying habits. It’s the type of encroaching infatuation that can no longer be disguised on the basis of superficiality or mere physical attraction. 

If asked, Atsumu would not be able to pinpoint the moment that cursed him to this pre-pubescent fate. If interrogated, he would begrudgingly admit that it probably started one night after their win against the Adlers. They were as per Jackals tradition, celebrating at an old, unsuspecting izakaya. Its new tatami floor and never fraying cushions, concealed by the muted browns and greys that coat it’s exterior—making it their designated place for cheap alcohol and home-made food. 

Sakusa, to the quiet surprise of everyone decided to came along, Atsumu thought it was probably because he was so overjoyed (internally) at the fact that he delivered the killing spike to the Alders and it landed just beyond Ushiwaka’s reach. The recent revelation about Sakusa and Ushiwaka being pseudo rivals did ruin Atsumu’s brief fantasy that Sakusa could have been his rival crush, from a rival school. 

Sakusa had scrutinized the sake cup with so much distaste that the mere possibility of him drinking, even out of respect for their captain who poured for him, was very much unlikely. 

Which was why Atsumu let out the most indignant squawk when he saw Sakusa take a tentative sip. 

“Omi-omi, you actually drink?”

Sakusa looked at him, and continued to drink, a silent mockery that Atsumu could basically hear the _Sorry Miya, for your inferior eyesight, as if being the worse Miya wasn’t enough._

Hinata with ears as big as the volleyballs he spikes, chimed in “Of course he drinks Atsumu-san, why wouldn’t he? It kills bacteria, it’s good for you.”

Atsumu very much doubted the science behind what Hinata said, because he was known for his freak quicks in highschool, and also his freakishly horrific grades. Sakusa continued to drink from his empty sake cup, and Atsumu observed him, thinking that he was just refraining from having to reply, because he was above entertaining gremlins like them. Sakusa’s eyes were glazed, his dilated pupils glowing under the cheap fluorescent lights that definitely should not make anyone’s eyes glow. 

Atsumu’s mind stuttered to a halt, Sakusa was drunk. He was the picture of eerie calmness; the disgust has retreated temporarily under the spell of alcohol. Atsumu didn’t know if it was due to healthy exposure to the summer sun, but Sakusa’s skin was less pasty than its usual Casper white, toasted with an unfair glow that made him look almost as bright as Hinata. 

Atsumu gulped, he never noticed the green tinge to Sakusa’s eyes. He had mistakenly believed that his eyes were plain black, just like the rest of Sakusa’s hair and heart. Why had he not realized that Sakusa had emeralds for _—no, no, no—_ he berates himself.

That was far too complimentary, even a thirstier fan could not have come up with that. They probably would have noticed, or obsessed over it if they weren’t separated by the television glass, or the spectator stands. Atsumu thought it wouldn’t really be Sakusa, if he let a foreign entity touch him, when he doesn’t know when was the last time they washed their hair, scrubbed their body, and sanitized their hands. 

Sakusa does not have emerald eyes, because he’s not nice enough to deserve emeralds. He has seaweed eyes that were murky, dark and enigmatic. 

Enigmatic? Where did that come from, one misstep and you’ll trip your ass into ethereal. Which is not what Sakusa Kiyoomi is. 

Atsumu was still reeling from his brain’s betrayal when he suddenly saw—

Sakusa’s drunkenness was so severe that he was still gulping thin air, with the cup pressed against his cupid’s bow. He was swallowing each fake sip so diligently, that his Adam’s apple was jumping up and down continuously, mocking Atsumu. 

See that was the moment Atsumu ought to have realized. But inherent to a brain that was dedicated to everything volleyball, it had failed to put up some nice buttercup yellow signs that said _Caution, proceed with caution_. So, naturally nothing would warn him of this tiny predicament, it will eventually hit him like an unforgiving driver, who decides it would be fun to ram his garbage truck up Atsumu. 

❀

Over the past months since he first witnessed drunk Sakusa, Atsumu has been sharpening his serves and improving his volleyball as one does. Which is why it wasn’t all that surprising that he was spending copious amounts of time with Sakusa—they are teammates, who practice together for eight hours everyday. Then they practice more, after everyone has left the gym because they needed to work on a new quick. Sometimes, if Sakusa is feeling particularly gracious, they even have dinner together—all in the name of strategizing how to destroy EJP Raijins and Komori with Sakusa’s nasty spikes. 

Today they also happen to walk home together, even though Atsumu is nothing if not efficient in the showers, he has lately developed the habit to let the water scald him completely pink and clean, which surprisingly requires more time than one would expect. By the time Sakusa rips open the shower curtains to get ready, Atsumu also wedges his wet feet into his squeaky flip-flops coincidentally. So naturally, they leave the gym together and walk in amicable silence, quiet save for the white noise in Atsumu’s head and the whispers of snowflakes as they scatter down, painting the concrete in white patches. 

“Why are you so quiet today, its creeping me out,” Sakusa asks abruptly. 

Atsumu was at a lost, he’s never been too quiet; he’s always been too loud, too brash, too inconsiderate. 

“Aw, omi-omi ya should’ve told me earlier that you missed my beautiful voice. If you deigned to call me your senpai, I’ll even sing for my favorite wing spiker.” 

Sakusa raises a mocking eyebrow, “I’m just checking, we don’t need to have our first string setter throw a big baby tantrum in the middle of league season,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

Atsumu’s cold cold heart unwittingly skips a beat, which has to be a mistake. Because the last time Atsumu’s heart skipped at anyone’s words or smile, it had ended so embarrassingly and tragically—it is a memory that has since been buried in the depths on his closet along with the Romero posters of his childhood. 

He had held in his calloused hands, a bouquet of mixed roses, damasked—red, pink, and yellow. They were as chaotic and desperate as his heart had been, with the arrival of the impending departure of the third years, and their captain. Kita-san, who had been the first person to ever show concern for Atsumu’s wellbeing, beyond the obligatory love of his mom, and the worries of his brother made under the guise of rough scuffles.

Maybe in attempting to preserve that willingly given care—Atsumu had confessed all his feelings, admiration and attachment to Kita on the day of his graduation. That in itself, isn’t entirely problematic, the crux of this scandal was his execution. He delayed the inevitable confession, oppressed by an unfamiliar fear of rejection, so much that he had left himself no chance but to do so as Kita was leaving the gates of the school, to his awaiting grandmother. 

So, he shouted across the yard, with a baseless type of confidence he really should not have had, with hundreds of students and family to bear witness. He was promptly rejected in a corner under a Sakura tree. Because, Kita did not do things by halves, he methodically declined Atsumu, and gave very comprehensive justifications. 

And so the unwanted roses were abandoned on the ground, the petals crunched under Atsumu’s feet along with the pink cherry blossoms. 

“—Miya, Miya, Miya,” Atsumu snaps out of his reverie to see Sakusa hissing at him, and swatting the air around him to get his attention. 

“Sorry, I zoned out for a bit there,” Atsumu apologizes, which left Sakusa gaping, and in between his eyebrows, a wrinkle crouches there, aggressively.

“You- don’t apologize, it’s disconcerting. Is it because Kageyama ranked higher than you in serving again? Did you eat your lunch, how can you not have energy when you eat seven onigiris on a daily basis?” Sakusa suddenly halts his movement to turn and look at Atsumu. He searched for something on Atsumu’s face—this moment seemed to stretch forever, Atsumu is convinced sweat is starting to flood down from his temple. If his heart was beating rapidly like an impatient hummingbird before, it is now thumping like the hummingbird is ready to rip apart his ribs, and slap his heart right onto Sakusa’s face. 

If birds could talk, it would bond with Sakusa in their mutual hobby of directing their mockery at dumb human Atsumu, _Look this is Atsumu’s stupid heart, it might start bouncing on your palm soon, throw it away before its too late_. 

Atsumu breathes in deeply; hoping that more air would help rationalize his burning body. His traitorous heart needs to stop misinterpreting concern; Sakusa only cares about him in a volleyball capacity. A volleyball capacity, because Atsumu is the starting setter, and Sakusa was slightly suspicious of the second and third string setters because he had allegedly seen one of them with dandruff more than once. 

Before Atsumu has the chance to reconfigure his heart, Sakusa speaks up again “Are you taking proper care of yourself? I don’t play with people who can’t even do something so basic. I don’t trust the other setters—” 

Holy shit. That implies that Sakusa trusts Atsumu, he likes Atsumu’s sets, because they are clean in terms of hygiene and technique, he likes Atsumu racking up points with his serves, because Atsumu serves even better than Ushiwaka. 

Yes, Sakusa’s sentence is matter for conjecture. Yes, everything is unsubstantiated, maybe even slightly delusional. Fact checks are indeed needed, but this doesn’t stop Atsumu’s chest from careening and spinning like a foolish child on a recklessly fast carousel. 

“I—” Atsumu tries to speak, but ends up croaking instead. He chances a glance at Sakusa, ready for his judgment but instead finds expectant eyes, waiting. 

Atsumu really tries to be a functional human being, but he chokes because Sakusa’s eyes are like a green black hole, intent on sucking Atsumu in until he is tangled in suffocating seaweed. He stumbles, an inch away from slipping to his death when he suddenly finds himself stepping in something soft and slippery—

But Sakusa grabs him at the wrist before he falls, and he realizes with humiliating trepidation—his right foot is brown with fecal stains. An optimistic bystander might observe that as mud on his shoe, a reverent fan might say Atsumu-san, let me clean your shoes for you.

But because this is Sakusa Kiyoomi, an unsympathetic being, he says, “Congratulations, we can now say that without a doubt, you really are the shitter twin.” 

The realization that Miya Atsumu was very much infatuated with Sakusa Kiyoomi hit him like stepping in a pile of dog shit on a nice sunny day out, literally. 

❀

Atsumu never used to believe in karma. He is what he is, because of the work and the effort he’s put into volleyball. People who have put the same effort into buying a house, building a family, nurturing their kids, he’s done that to volleyball. But if the karmic wheel was in fact as operative as superstitious people say it is, then Atsumu liking Sakusa was a consequence of him goading and provoking Osamu for liking his own teammate. The recesses he spent warning Osamu to keep it in his dirty pants, and not to disrupt the team dynamic. 

Atsumu stepping in dog shit in front of Sakusa was the result of him mocking his high school juniors, for having no place on the court when they made a mistake, instead of encouraging them to try again. Even if he did embarrass them, he did not berate them with malicious intent, it was merely a by-product of honesty and the stern captaining that they needed to exact revenge on Karasuno. 

But Atsumu having Sakusa, a mysophobe save him from sitting in dog shit, was the culmination of all his years dedicated to being a dick head, to be succinct. 

With more propriety and remorse than he has ever displayed in his life, he averts his eyes to the ground and slips his wrist out of Sakusa’s loose grip. He takes a step back, (in the right direction, this time), and kowtows to Sakusa. He would have kissed Sakusa’s shoes if it wouldn’t make Sakusa hate Atsumu even more. 

But with the last dregs of self-perseverance left in him, “I’m so sorry, Sakusa, I don’t know why I was even born. I promise I didn’t mean to, I know how much you hate…” Atsumu trails off, unwilling to complete his sentence. _Me? The Dirt?_ It was probably synonymous at this point. 

“Get up from the floor. What are you doing on the ground?” Sakusa grimaces when he notices the stares that they are attracting. 

Atsumu acknowledges that if he never stepped in shit in front of Sakusa, his chances might have been close to twenty percent; he used to entertain the idea of eventually seducing Sakusa by practicing cleansing rituals that he would be proud of. He would mask himself, roll himself flat with a lint roller to defeat all dust mites. 

Now, he’s confronted with the reality that no amount of sanitizing can ever redeem him in front of Sakusa’s eyes. He had associated himself with the filthiest dirt you can find, this was no longer a matter of an unkempt room and laundry strewed everywhere. 

Atsumu wrings his hands together violently, desperately trying to fight the rash he knows will start spreading soon and he stutters, “I’m so sorry, Sakusa.” 

He unravels from the ground, and slowly unfurls into a standing position. His eyes unwittingly flickers to Sakusa, and finds his eyes impassive but his eyebrows pinched. Drowning in numbness, Atsumu promptly sprints back to the dorms. He doesn’t think he’s run this hard since the last time he was trying to outrun Osamu to get the last pudding at their grandmother’s house.

Atsumu looks back after he’s outran the Dontonbori river, and finds himself back in their suburban neighbourhood. He had forgotten about his hands while escaping, but now he feels the tiny clusters of blisters forming on his palms. He ignores the insatiable itch to wring his hands together, basking in the momentary relief that he avoided further embarrassment. 

Sakusa didn’t follow; Atsumu pretends not to feel the dull stabbing ache in his chest. 

❀

Atsumu had departed from some of his ill manners by the time he graduated from Inarizaki, as Osamu had bid farewell to volleyball forever. It might not be forever in Osamu’s words, but the fact that the Miya twins were not conquering the professional leagues together meant that their battles at Spring High were the end of the Miya twins.

Four springs ago, Atsumu had rectified his character after essentially being dealt a list of his egocentric tendencies. 

One spring ago, Hinata joined the Black Jackals fresh off the Brazilian beaches. Atsumu’s ball reaches an unparalleled height; he knows that they are teammates, they could be great teammates, but never partners. That was a reserved spot, and if he tried to vie for it, Atsumu would end up on the bench, chasing a person who’s importance is unrealized, but omnipresent in every crevice of Hinata’s life. His milk phone case, when he doesn’t even like drinking milk, his home screen of the most important team that he has been in, and will ever be in. Him diving for all of Atsumu’s serves, and never complaining about requests for extra practice, because of his exuberant commitment to polishing his volleyball, but more because of his quiet dedication to the first setter who has ever served him. 

One winter ago, Sakusa joined the Black Jackals with an unused diploma that's since been framed on the wall of his pristine apartment. He returns all of Atsumu’s jokes with jibes, he mocks all of Atsumu’s proud proclamations with scorn. He pretends to scoff at what new play Atsumu has brewed, but they synchronize exceeding expectations that Atsumu had only reserved for his twin. Every time the ball leaves Atsumu’s fingertips into the awaiting palm of Sakusa, and is slammed onto the oblivious ground—Atsumu’s heart soars imaginably high like the balls he tosses. 

In between spring and winter, Atsumu had learned and absorbed all of Sakusa’s idiosyncrasies, and turned them into his own habits. He had rationalized it as eagerness to befriend someone that he could consider his equal. He had initially blamed Osamu for leaving him stranded, but he had found in Sakusa an equal, not because they shot out of the same womb, or were infused into the same life and sport together, but just because. He had thought that the sporadic heartbeats and chest aches were adrenaline, or fear that he would be left behind again. 

His affections were declined four springs ago, and the reasons were so simple it was as though Kita was a card reader telling Atsumu that his card just didn’t work. One spring ago, his affections began to find a new host in Sakusa. He had rebuilt himself with the crutches of defeating Karasuno, and rising into his position as a first string setter. Atsumu cannot help but resent the fact that his heart had been gallivanting around when he had only just resettled into himself. 

He fights the urge to twist his raw fingers when he hears the unmistakable quiet slam of a door. He knows that it’s Sakusa, because no one else on their floor pretends to be polite enough to muffle the sound of a closing door. He doesn’t want to imagine what Sakusa is doing now, but the fact that they were separated by just one thin wall made it inconceivable.

Sakusa must be soaking his shoes with the alcohol spray that he leaves by the door now, his face probably scrunched up and marred in disdain just from thinking about the dangerous proximity between his shoes and the dog shit just now. He will probably dunk himself in a scalding bath, Atsumu recalls the steam he felt on his face when he was sat on Sakusa’s couch waiting for him to finish his second shower, because _Miya, do you even know how many pathogens jump onto your clothes so they can invade your house too_.

Atsumu remembers waiting forever because the heat only kills the bacteria, and Sakusa has another cold bath regime that takes another twenty minutes, because _cold water promotes muscle recovery, sorry I actually care about maintaining my professional career_. For someone so blunt and curt with his words, Sakusa really was the most excessive person when it comes to personal care and routines. 

After meticulously blow-drying his curls, because _wet hair will cause cold air to seep in and give you a headache_ , he will leave the bathroom in a plum purple robe, and make matcha with the water that he told Atsumu to boil in the kettle. He always clutches the mug so hard with pruned fingers and shaky shoulders; undoubtedly because of the ice-cold temperature he subjects himself to, but also because Sakusa is always too cold. 

Atsumu had once said _ask me anytime omi-omi, and I’ll give ya a hug so warm it’ll melt yer stupid Siberian shoulders_ , Sakusa had just rolled his eyes and refilled his matcha, but Atsumu thought that he actually meant it. 

If Atsumu were over at Sakusa’s apartment now to discuss more strategies, or watch a match, Sakusa would begrudgingly make a healthy and well-balanced dinner for him after unsuccessful attempts at herding Atsumu home. He would swat Atsumu’s greedy hands away from trying to taste the food that he’s still stirring in the wok. Atsumu always redeems himself when he sets the table, by sanitizing and covering it with a plastic film. Each time, Atsumu preens a little when Sakusa gives him a nod of mild approval and he wouldn’t even protest when Sakusa reminds him no speaking while eating. 

Instead, his stomach growls to remind him that his only option is hot cup noodles, or Osamu’s cold onigiris. 

He pats himself consolingly, and speaks to his stomach with his last dash of sanity flushing down the toilet “You better get used to this, cus he won’t cook for us anymore.” 

Atsumu contemplates calling Osamu, but decides against interrupting what he knows is a precious weekend spent visiting Suna. 

He smiles bitterly, wishing that he was his sixteen year old self, reckless enough to get his first and last hug from Sakusa while he still could have. 

❀

Atsumu doesn’t ardently avoid Sakusa like its his sacred duty, instead the end of winter brings a raging pandemic so intense that they were forced to take a break from training, practice matches, and more practice. He hasn’t seen Sakusa in three months, since he left one early morning to return to Hyogo. He contemplated the idea of knocking on Sakusa’s door, to apologize again and joke that Sakusa could now quarantine safely, free from Atsumu’s badgering. 

But he didn’t dare; he dreaded to see Sakusa’s delight at this newfound freedom. 

Having long abandoned his phone in a bedside drawer for three months, he’s also shoved his feelings back into his suitcase. He’s been throwing clothes, furniture, food and everything imaginable into this suitcase. Desperately jumping and stomping on it to compress those things, so that he could zip the stupid suitcase up and hurl it into a frozen lake. 

His inner turmoil has been considerably quelled, and he has been trying to attend to his filial duties as a loyal son—watching Korean dramas with his mom. But after two months of plot hole questioning, his mom has banned him from joining in on her daily binge, _Atsumu, don’t ruin it for me just because you’re too cynical to believe in their love_ , she had said. Atsumu stomped away fuming because the Koreans and their money hungry asses were just capitalizing on people and fabricating unrealistic expectations of love. 

He has since been dedicating himself to harassing his brother once again. 

“Go back Sumu, stop sobbin’ and sulkin’ over yer stupid uni-kun,” says a disgruntled Osamu trying to kick Atsumu out from their shared bedroom, so that he could call his boyfriend in private. 

Atsumu pokes his tongue out at Osamu, “Dude, I can’t, I’m gonna die. I don’t care about yer stupid boyfriend and yer wanking sessions, I’m not goin’ back,” he snipes. 

Osamu takes a deep breath, and swivels on his chair to face Atsumu. He looks as though he’s reached the limit of being awoken at eight every morning to go running (trudging) through snow with Atsumu. Because apparently, despite being praised by Jackals’ fans for having Dorito shoulders, it did not equate to an infinite stamina like it does for Captain America. Atsumu had barely stopped himself from saying _that's what you get for being the twin who’s not a professional athlete_. 

Osamu looks stern, then he tries to smile like he’s considering how to rearrange his face. He eventually settles his unamused gaze on Atsumu, “Sumu, I’m tellin’ ya, you can’t keep letting what happened with Kita-san hold you back. Stop runnin’ away, this isn’t you. Yes, you lie all the time and yer thoughtless, but I don’t remember ever havin’ a coward for my twin.” 

Atsumu splutters, resenting how Osamu was living up to his image as the more rational twin—not that he would ever give him that satisfaction. Atsumu glares at him, “Can ya be a bit more considerate Samu? I was gonna go back anyways, training starts again next week. Sue me fer tryna spend more time with my dear mother and brother that I haven’t seen in ages.” 

Osamu snorts, “Yeah right, I’m inconsiderate.” 

“Sumu, you can come home anytime ya want. But come home because yer happy, not because yer tryna escape yer problems.” 

Atsumu knows, and he hates that Osamu knows. He hates that he still understands Atsumu the best. There’s really only one thing to be done in this situation, he tackles Osamu like a wombat, and they both tumble onto the ground from the chair. 

He tugs at his twin’s boring black hair that makes him look unfairly more mature than Atsumu. 

He flicks Osamu’s forehead, “Thanks Samu,” he grumbles.

Osamu was right, Atsumu did have to go back, but that didn’t mean Atsumu wasn’t going to lock himself in his room for a week and avoid all contact with Sakusa until practice starts again. 

❀

Atsumu returns to their condominium to find that the snowy braches of the tree has melted to reveal small fledgling cherry blossoms. 

It’s five in the afternoon; Sakusa should be taking his second shower of the day before he prepares for dinner. Atsumu takes a deep breath, and decides that this was as good of a time to slip into his flat unnoticed, as any. Sakusa likes long showers that were perfect for drowning out noises. 

Atsumu treads up the stairs carefully, lifting his suitcase up quietly with the same determination to bury his feelings as discreetly as he was trying to sneak into his house. Those months was a significant time that he could not erase, the memories made together, the moments spent living in close proximity, and the muted sounds he learnt to distinguish whether Sakusa was shuffling through his house, polishing his floors, or wiping his windows. 

He reaches their floor, and makes insistent strides in the direction of his flat. He was so determinate in walking past Sakusa’s flat without glancing at his door that he failed to notice the door swing open, until he feels a gust of wind slap him on the face.

“Thank you.” Sakusa says, a voice so familiar and monotonous that Atsumu couldn’t suppress his instincts to look up from the ground. Atsumu gives Sakusa a nonchalant nod, and strives to reach his door when— 

“I’m leaving now, Kiyoomi. I’ll see you at our next match,” Ushijima rumbles as he rounds the corner of Sakusa’s genkan and puts his shoes on. 

Atsumu is sure that he looks comical with his mouth hanging open in shock, and his feet superglued to the ground. He quickly realizes that he was blocking Ushiwaka’s exit, and in an endeavor to pretend he didn’t feel like he had just been pummeled to the ground from shock, he pokes his tongue out like he was intending to do that from the start. “Didn’t think you two had it in ya, and during quarantine too.” 

Atsumu sees the slightest glower beginning to form on Sakusa’s naked face, and he feels an impulse to rub at Sakusa’s pinched eyebrows until it reverts to his impassive countenance. He dismisses the thought, knowing it was Ushiwaka’s company that waned Sakusa’s annoyance and comforted him. 

Reluctant to provoke a fight that will inevitably cause a familiar ache in his chest, he turns away and opens his own door with trembling hands. He shuts the door with a slam, his back against the door and he slides into a crouch. 

It’s fine, he’s had three months to rationalize this, and in his research over the psychology of infatuation, he’s come to understand that his affections for Sakusa can be reduced as a consequence of the proquinity effect—they reside in close proximity, they work the same jobs in a close knit industry: in the same team, with a friend circle where all their friends know each other. There was no real basis for attraction, and once he takes the first step, he’ll never remember—

Not a full minute has passed since Atsumu was alone with his thoughts; abrupt bangs from the other side of his door knock him off his feet. 

He startles, but still trapped in a trance, he opens the door unthinkingly without looking into the peephole first. 

Sakusa stands slouched, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, atop the ugly welcome mat that was supposed to make Atsumu’s flat that much more inviting. From Sakusa’s frown, Atsumu can tell it had the opposite effect. 

“Oh hi, om- Sakusa, what brings ya here?” Atsumu leers, in his attempt to pretend that he really didn’t spend three months losing sleep over Sakusa. 

He didn’t think it was possible for Sakusa’s face to turn down any further like an upside down clown, but it did and Atsumu even deigned to use his last name this time too, this guy was seriously an overkill. 

“Are. You. Joking,” Sakusa snarls. “What is wrong with you Miya, I haven’t seen, heard or spoke with you in three months after you suddenly disappeared. You didn’t even think to tell me that you’ve left, so I wouldn’t think you were rotting away in your den?” 

Atsumu doesn’t even stutter anymore, his brain collapses like a teenage girl when they laugh and just flop onto the ground. 

“I—why do you care, you just had yer boyfriend over, are ya really in a position to care about another guy?” Atsumu lashes back reflexively. 

Sakusa’s eyes widen and he squints at Atsumu, “You fucked off for months, thoughtless as to your own actions and how that affects the people around you. Now, you dare to insinuate things about me,” he scoffs. 

Atsumu feels the fatigue in every pore and muscle of his body, he really cannot continue to indulge this obsession—“Fuck off, who do you think ya are? You don’t get to do this to me, pretendin’ you care, giving me false hope. When I know, I know you only care about me because I’m yer setter. I can die for all you care as long as it doesn’t affect your volleyball right? I’m sure you had loads a ball practices with Ushiwaka, so stop pretendin’,” he rambles uncontrollably.

“Stop talking in circles, you coward. What is this about? Me, you, us, or volleyball?” 

“Fine- fine, I don’t care anymore, what does it matter anyways? I used ta like ya,” Atsumu admits 

“Used to?” 

Atsumu scrubs a hand over his face, and resists the urge to wring his hands together when they have just healed in time for training again. “Sakusa. I’m tellin’ ya, let it go.” 

“I don’t run away, I’m not like you. So, unless if you tell me, I won’t let go,” Sakusa glares at Atsumu. 

Atsumu looks at the trees behind Sakusa, and realizes that those were pink petals clinging to the branches. He smiles bitterly—spring again. It is never a season for new beginnings, this thing—the comfortable companionship and partnership with Sakusa, the meals shared will all end in Spring.

Atsumu sighs, “I left, because I liked you, I realized and I was so scared. It hit me like stepping on dog shit. I’ve never been scared of missin’ a receive, botchin’ a toss, or testin’ a new spike. With ya, I was scared of losin’ everything we had, but I was also scared that nothing will change. But it don’t matter anymore because the two things I was scared of, will happen anyways.” 

Sakusa narrows his eyes on Atsumu suspiciously, as though he was scrutinizing if Atsumu was telling the truth. “You did step on dog shit,” he grunts with a tiny smirk. “But what are you? Suddenly found a talent in fortunetelling? Stop telling me what’s going to happen in my future.” 

Atsumu freezes; it was not the reaction he was expecting. His heart trips, he quickly stamps out the hopefulness that’s threatening to contaminate his entire body like someone putting out a fire in their house. What if Sakusa was just bantering? “Sakusaa don’t tease me like that, I know you don’t like me like that, so ya can just say no nicely and we can be friends again,” Atsumu whines carefully. 

“Are you my spokesperson now? Do you speak for everything I feel? Should I ask you everyday at dinnertime, _Atsumu please tell me if I’m hungry because I really don’t know my own body_ ,” Sakusa questions, raising his eyebrows at Atsumu as if daring him to tell Sakusa how he should feel. 

“Om-Sakusa, buh but what are you saying, I- surely, you don’t? Not after I stepped—”Atsumu quickly stops himself, lest he actually reminds Sakusa of that horrific incident if he’s already forgotten it. 

Sakusa rolls his eyes, “Listen, I’m going to make this easy for you, because you’ve never stuttered so much in your life and it’s starting to be unbecoming. Yes I do, and I saw, but did you think I just cooked for every teammate who practices with me? By now, you should’ve heard the two gremlins shouting through the thin wall right?” 

Atsumu’s heart flips, relief floods through his body, and he feels as though his body has finally unwounded itself after months. “You—me? You really?” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes again, “Yes, you’re a jerk, but I—whatever you. I like you.” 

Atsumu actually beams, his cheeks stretches almost painfully. He barely manages not to leap and wound his arms around Sakusa in a hug. Instead, he avoids skin contact, and gently tugs at Sakusa’s sleeve to drag him into the house. 

“And stop calling me Sakusa, it’s disconcerting.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t, I don’t want to worry you anymore. So Kiyoomi?” Atsumu smirks. 

A tiny frown rests on Sakusa’s face, complimented by the reddened tip of his ears. He twists Atsumu’s ear before quickly retracting his arm. 

Pleasant surprise blooms through Atsumu, that was their first intentional skin contact since the moment he has first met Sakusa. 

“I’m just kidding omi-omi, not until yer ready, okay? But please don’t call me Miya anymore, I don’t wanna be think of stupid smug Samu everytime ya call my name.” 

Okay, Atsumu.” Sakusa nods fondly, and lets Atsumu lead him into the flat.

**Author's Note:**

> i've always been more of a consume than create type of person (and that was ok with the bigger ships because theres endless content, though i think that i've nearly depleted most iwaoi content in two years), with sakuatsu starting to become a more prominent ship, i want so much more content that it becomes a main ship for both sakusa and atsumu (all ships are valid tho!) 
> 
> i haven't written since bnha two years ago, so comment and give me all sorts of criticisms idm!! i'm [ @evilspawn ](https://twitter.com/evilspawn)on twitter, drop me prompts because i'm super rusty and need to write loads while i'm ankles deep obsessed with sakuatsu
> 
> also i'll be updating this fic as i re-read and inevitably find new mistakes lol + possible epilogue?


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